Looming over the flat, desolate landscape, the cone-shaped volcano was blanketed in snow, as out of place as a Walmart Christmas display in October. Before I could argue with him, my German wirehair was slipping and sliding his way up its flank, hooking around and out of sight. When I finally slogged my way to his elevation, I found him quivering, nostrils flaring, pointing into a small cave. Just then, a covey of valley quail erupted like bats in a National Geographic special. Mayhem ensued, a rodeo of stumbles, missed shots and even a few retrieves all the way back down to the valley floor. Ho-hum. Another day in late-winter paradise.
February is a lost month on most wingshooters’ calendars—white, cold and full of fond memories from months with more hospitable weather. However, it offers a
